A Little Lifetime
by SugarKane Montgomery
Summary: Up-And-Coming Musician Jane Rizzoli has a two-year affair with the famed (and married) Dr. Maura Isles. What happens when the couple is outed after they've already ended the affair? Will the drama serve to bring them together or keep them apart?
1. Chapter 1

**_Alright guys, This is Sugar signing on for another 14-15 chapter story. For some of you who are a little scarred from Autumn Rotting, I'd like to say relax and sit back and enjoy this story. It might be a little easier on the palate. Also I loved the reviews for the other one; you guys are hilarious and very emotional._**

 ** _Anyways as always, you know the rules, review, tell me how you feel, I like them all. The good, the bad, and the incredibly long. Also tell me how you feel about the story and its direction. Any predictions? Also if any of you want to make cover pictures (I know some people do that), PM me._**

* * *

 _I've grown to see the world as flat_

 _You go so far and after that_

 _There's no place left to go but back_

 _There's no place left to be_

 _So just in case you meet its end_

 _And everywhere to be, you've been_

 _And you feel like coming home again_

 _you can come back home to me_

 _I'll keep your room just how you left_

 _Your bed unmade, your desk unkempt_

 _Your records on the same top shelf_

 _Right where they're supposed to be_

 _So if you find you've had your fun_

 _if you find you miss me some_

 _I'll still be here when you are done_

 _You can come on home to me_

* * *

The crowd is hungry tonight.

When the final notes of the song spill out, their screams pour in; chants of admiration, chants of love…phone numbers. I smile at no one in particular because the bright lights glaring at the stage make it impossible to see any face clearly. Jackson Starr, the host of The Jackson Starr Show (obviously), is gesturing dramatically, his face contorted in faux delight. I hate this guy. And not just because of his overly gelled hair, though that's not winning him any points either.

It's just something about him, something about his exaggerated movements and frozen expression. He reminds me of an overworked puppet

Every time I see him I almost expect to catch a glimpse of some studio producer's hand up his ass.

"Wow folks, what a performance!" Jackson whistles loudly before continuing, his face turned directly toward the center camera, "And for the viewers at home finally tuning in, we just heard the famous Rizzoli here tonight finishing up a performance of her new single _Come On Home."_

I glance at my watch quickly, knowing that my time on the Jackson Starr Show should be winding down to a close, but unlike we rehearsed before, he doesn't immediately announce my exit. Instead he sits back behind his desk and gestures to the interviewee chair right beside it. I glance around a bit confused, looking off the stage at my manager Vince Korsak who looks like he's about to have an aneurysm. He doesn't handle the unexpected well. Everything has to be on time in his mind, any slight detour puts him on edge.

But I figure Jackson's only stalling for more time, so I simply shrug and sit back down in the interview chair even though I'm pretty sure we've already gone through all of his question cards. When I finally make it to my seat though, Jackson continues smiling widely. So widely that it almost comes off mischievous.

"So Rizzoli your time with us is almost about over," he makes a dramatic frowning face and the crowd does a collective 'aww'. It's a little creepy, but I smile sympathetically anyway. "But before you go," he continues, "I had to address some rumors that have recently come to my attention."

I furrow my brow at this, looking back once again at Korsak who is beginning to turn red as he whispers furiously to some stagehands gathering around him. I figure he's either trying to find out what the hell is going on like I am, or he is simply trying to get them to pull the plug on the interview. Korsak is a bit of a firecracker in that way. I'm much calmer under pressure than him, so when the audience "Ooo's" as if I'm some 9 year-old getting called to the principal's office I simply shrug and roll my eyes. Things in my personal life are kept personal; I take very, very extensive measures in order to ensure that my growing fame does not hinder my privacy. Of course, the paparazzi gets some things like where I go to eat for breakfast…or that one time I tripped on my way out of the gym. But other than that, I'm a vault. Which is exactly how I like it. Especially considering some of the secrets that are kept inside.

"Well, Rizzoli, I was sent some very interesting photos of you yesterday," he raises his eyebrows accusingly, but I simply smirk. Whatever he has is probably some gossip article nonsense. But I play along anyway.

"Are you talking about those pictures I sent you, Jackson? You swore you'd be discreet!" I feign indignance and the crowd laughs loudly. Jackson even cracks a smile, tilting his head in a fond sort of manner.

"No, not those pictures," he replies playfully and the audience chuckles again, "I'm talking about some very, very interesting pictures I was sent of you and another special person."

"Hm…" I hum thoughtfully, trying to seem unshaken by the fact that he's mentioned that someone else is in the picture. He can't know…of course not…It's probably just another picture of me and Casey hanging out. The tabloids can't seem to wrap their heads around two friends of opposite genders simply being friends. "Ah, Is this about me and Casey Jones again? Because I swear to you, there's nothing interesting about our relationship."

Jackson smiles before waving his hand dismissively, "It's not Casey. It's someone much more shocking." The crowd lets out a collective gasp before Jackson continues, and as nonchalant as I'm trying to act, part of me feels a little scared. "I'm talking about you and the one and only," he pauses for suspense, and my heart skips a beat without my permission, "Maura Isles."

With utter flamboyance he gestures to the huge screen behind him and there, on national television, is a blurry picture of me and fucking Maura Isles in each other's arms, hugged up at night by a pool. I don't really know what a heart attack feels like, but god I must have had something close to it. Because my chest felt like it was about to explode. I could hear Korsak behind me let out a low screech to cut to commercial, and apparently the studio decided that was enough rope for us to hang ourselves because they gave the signal for Jackson to cut it off.

"But before Rizzoli responds to these damning allegations we'll need to take a short commercial break. Tune back in with us in a few if you want to hear all the juicy deets."

He winks at the camera and waits with a widely stretched grin until we are finally off of the air. I get out of the chair almost immediately, pulling my cell phone quickly out of my pocket. God, I hope Maura hasn't changed her number because I need to be the person to tell her this. Not some paparazzi stalker flashing a camera in her face.

"Jane!" Korsak yells instantly the moment I am off of stage, "You better tell me what the hell that was up there, and it better be a goddamn good excuse!" It's not that I'm intimidated by Korsak. I mean, he's a teddy bear usually; for god sakes, the man lives with five puppies, two of which he takes with us whenever we're on the road. He has a heart of gold. But whenever he scolds me, I feel like a kid getting reprimanded by my father. But I guess, that's kind of what Korsak is …a stand-in father. I can't help but bow my head a bit, even though I'm incredibly pissed that the whole world is about to be privy to my personal life.

Oh god, the whole world is about to know about my personal life. I have to tell Maura.

"Good god Janie…Maura Isles? Of all the women throwing themselves at you? You choose the married one?" he groans loudly, taking out a handkerchief and rubbing his brow harshly, "you're trying to kill me. That's what this is."

I roll my eyes at Korsak's histrionics before quickly weaving my way around him and through the stage crew until I find a nearby unlocked door. As stealthily as I can, I slip into the room which is luckily some sort of abandoned conference area, and I pull out my phone. I try hastily to dial out Maura's number by heart. I get it wrong the first time, but on my second attempt, I stop trying to remember and simply let my fingers move of their own accord. Miraculously, I dial it correctly. And even more miraculously, the number is still in service. I thought she'd have changed it by now. If not just out of habit because as stars we often have to change our numbers to keep them from getting public, I expected her to at least change it out of spite for me. I figured she'd want to sever all means of contact between herself and me. But obviously she hasn't because the phone rings. And it only takes about three rounds before she finally picks up.

"Jane," she breaths out; she sounds a little surprised…but even moreso angry.

"Maura."

* * *

Dr. Isles and I have a long history, but it all pretty much all started in a closet.

A supply closet to be exact, right up against a stack of cleaning supplies. I remember it vaguely. A shove against the wall. A tongue pushing between my lips. The sound of her moans drowned out by the thunderous bass of overly loud speakers. It was party; I can't quite remember now whose party. Or whose closet. But I do recall the aftermath. I remember stumbling out of the dark crevice of a room, Maura's hand laced tightly with mine. Her alcohol-stained lips pressed against my ear.

 _Let's get out of here._

She was beautiful, even then. Even with her haired tousled and her lipstick slightly smudged.

She was beautiful.

But she was beautiful in a poignant kind of way

She was the kind of beauty that people see when they look up into the night sky. She was that dark emptiness that seemed to stretch infinitely beyond you.

She was the kind of beauty you could spend your whole life trying to explore, knowing all the while you'd never scratch the surface.

I spent two years trying to explore all her dark matter: her daddy issues, her mommy issues, her commitment issues. Unsurprisingly, it was the last one of those issues that broke us up. Yeah, she was married to Garrett Fairfield, a billionaire whose family owned some sort of oil business, but that marriage, at least as she described it, was more of a business merger than an emotional commitment. Garrett saw other people; she saw other people. And that was that.

It was an odd sort of arrangement considering that Maura had become the face of the Isles Foundation, a sort of beacon of goodness. Her name was closely associated with the company and the company was closely associated with all a wide array of charities. Plus with all the advertising campaigns the company puts on, Maura has developed a known presence on television, and because of that, she's garnered her own sort of fame. She's been called the Modern Mother Teresa in some circles, simply because of her work with Doctors without Borders and the foundation itself. That's kind of how I met her. At a charity event, her foundation asked me to help raise money for the construction of a string of clinics in west Ethiopia. I donated some money myself and did a couple of commercials in its favor, and because of that, the board invited me to a charity ball and a subsequent smaller 'after party' gathering. Maura had come over during the 'after party' and started chatting me up.

 _"We really appreciate your support for the construction of the clinics. I know your schedule is probably incredibly busy."_

 _"No problem. I enjoyed helping out."_

It was nothing, not really. I mean, she even introduced me to Garrett that night; I shook the guy's hand. But somehow, that didn't make me any less attracted to his wife. And the more alcohol I drank, the less I cared about him and the more attracted I became to her. It didn't hurt that Maura eyed me over her wineglass the entire night, her bottom lip wedged between her teeth.

Three hours later, she was slipping her hand down my slacks, and I was burying my tongue into her mouth.

* * *

And now, we're both going to pay for it.

"Well isn't this an unpleasant surprise," she snips from the other end. We haven't spoken to each other in over six months, but for some reason, I was expecting a happier response. I don't really know why though. After our 'break-up', she actually tried to remove me as a spokesperson from the Isles Foundation. But when that proved more complicated than originally planned (seeing as the board favored the amount of press I was bringing to the company) she up and flew to another country with Bass and Garrett close to her side, separating herself from me entirely.

Which was what we both needed anyway, I guess.

Space.

"If you're calling to ask about the things you left at the summer house, I've already had them taken care of," she says it blankly. In that way she always does when she's trying to seem detached.

I narrow my eyes a bit at her words, "You threw my things out?"

She's quiet for a moment before finally responding, "Maybe."

"Maura, I swear to god," I start before I can stop myself. Maura has a way of getting under my skin. Easily. But I shake myself out of it. There are more important things to talk about. "Whatever, I don't care…even though my autographed Led Zeppelin t-shirt was in there...I'll ignore that for now. We have bigger problems." I look down at my watch again. I know I don't have much time before my phone is bombarded with emails and texts or Korsak comes rushing in here with a team of publicists.

"Tell me something I don't know, Jane," Maura retorts and I wish I'd never taught her how to be snarky.

"I'm serious Maura," I sigh, feeling anxiety wash over me. God, we're in so much trouble. "They have pictures."

I hear her pause for a moment on the other end of the phone. "Who are they? And what kind of pictures?" The hostility in her voice is gone, replaced by a sort of quiet fear.

"The public, the media. I don't know," I say, frustrated at the situation, "they have pictures of us. Maura…they know."


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I love you guys. I see that some of you are a little worried that what happened with Autumn Rotting might happen again, but for the most part all of you are really supportive. And I have to say it's pretty awesome. Plus, I loved Autumn Rotting, ending and all, and knowing that that ending affected people so much, as I've said before, is something that makes me smile. **You guys are really great.**

 **italics=flashbacks**

Now I leave you with a quote that Shonda Rhimes once said right after she broke up my OTP: "We are on a journey. This is part of that journey. Trust the journey."

* * *

"I'm serious Maura," I sigh, feeling anxiety wash over me. God, we're in so much trouble. "They have pictures."

"Oh, no," I hear the panic in her voice slowly starting to rise, "Jane, oh my god. How do they know? What pictures? We were so careful!"

"It was some off-guard picture of us hugging. Jackson sounded as if he had more, but I don't know."

I can hear Maura's pacing through the phone, the sound of her heels clicking steadily back and forth. "Okay, okay," she says, trying to calm herself down, "They're just pictures of us hugging…if Jackson had better pictures, he would have shown them first."

"True," I respond agreeably after thinking for a moment. If Jackson had something juicier, he wouldn't be able to keep it quiet. I look at my watch quickly again. I'm sure commercial break will be over soon. "So what do I say? It was just a friendly hug? People know I work with your foundation."

I hear voices other than Maura's calling from the other end. She must have muffled the phone or something because her response to those voices is barely audible. After a moment, she comes back. Her voice much quieter.

"God, Jane, I don't know. Spin the story. I have to go, soon. I was in a meeting before you called."

I furrow my brow at this. "You left a meeting to answer my call?"

She's quiet for a moment, but then she speaks again. "Jane I have to go. We'll talk later."

I roll my eyes at the obvious dodge. "Yeah, okay," I say before hanging up the phone.

Only a minute or two passes before Korsak slams open the door of the conference room, surprising me so much I nearly drop my phone.

"Jane!" he huffs, breathing heavily as if he's just run a mile, "Why are you hiding?"

"Uh," I point to my phone still caught off-guard, but he simply nods his head and continues.

"I called Riley; she's doing damage control until we can get in touch with a publicist, but the break is almost over, you need to get back out here." Oh god, Riley…I'd never told her about Maura. I'd never had time to tell her about Maura. But before I can think too much about it, Korsak is grabbing my arm hurriedly.

"What do I say when I get out there?" I sputter as he pulls me out of the room and toward the stage.

"Deny. Deny. Deny," he whispers fiercely as he pushes me out onto the stage. I stumble a bit but regain my footing smoothly enough that I can throw a wave and a fake smile at the audience. I sit back in the interviewee chair while Jackson eyes me like hungry lion eyes a gazelle.

"Welcome back, Rizzoli."

"Glad to be back, asshole," I mutter lowly, still keeping on a wide enough smile as I turn to face the camera. I know I should have probably kept that comment inside, but I couldn't help it; this one untalented cretin is trying to destroy my career, and beyond that he's trying to destroy Maura's. And for what? Fifteen minutes of higher ratings? I can hear Jackson gasp a little beside me, but before he can respond, the camera man points at him signaling that we're on the air.

"Um, welcome back everyone," Jackson recovers quickly, donning his usual, over-grown grin. "Rizzoli is still here, _surprisingly_." He laughs at his own joke, and as if on cue, the audience laughs along. "Now, here's your chance to respond to these rumors I've been hearing about you and the married Maura Isles."

"Well," I start smoothly enough, even though my thoughts are going wild, "There's uh…really nothing to respond to."

"Really now?" he questions disbelievingly, "Well explain the photo." He points to the huge one of Maura and me hugging tightly.

"We're just friends. She uh—she was going through something, and I hugged her," I shrug trying to keep my nerves down as I turn from Jackson to face the crowd. "I'm sorry. I wish I could give you some juicier deets, Jackson." The crowd immediately laughs and I smirk in relief. But Jackson only smiles cockily before waving his hand in the air, signaling something I suppose. "If that's so, then what about this one, Rizzoli?"

I look back, and it's one of me hugging Maura from behind in the living space of my apartment; she's wearing my Red Sox t-shirt and some jogging shorts, and I'm wearing pajamas. That was like a year ago. Who in the hell took this picture?

"You took look a little too cozy for being just friends."

The crowd release a collective gasp and I falter for a second, shocked that anyone could have caught us in that moment. Someone must have been waiting outside of my window with a camera. Jackson smirks arrogantly at my hesitation. And I hear Korsak groan behind me.

"Who took these pictures, Jackson?" I question. The last picture had Maura and me outside, and that left room for me to believe that maybe some incredibly dedicated paparazzi guy had taken it. But this one…this one was not taken by a guy seeking a quick buck. Jackson leans forward in his chair at my question.

"Why do you ask, Rizzoli? Is there something to hide?"

I grunt a little annoyed because Mr. Starr obviously sees this as some sort game he gets to play with people's lives. I realize that Maura and I weren't the best people but…this…this could destroy everything we've worked for. Someone has been known about us for at least a year...And yet these pictures come out now?

"Look, there's nothing to hide. It was a sleepover," I say heatedly, still contemplating the increased severity of this issue, "Maura and I are just close friends, and some creepy guy took that picture while we were in the privacy of my own home. I-It's an invasion of privacy, and you think that's okay?"

The crowd mostly 'oooo's but some start to clap for me. Jackson flicks his eyes around the audience nervously. He obviously didn't expect me to react that fiercely. "I-I don't. I don't think it's okay."

"Then why are you broadcasting it on national television-"

"You're obviously trying to change the subject!" he interrupts quickly.

"I answered your question. Now answer mine-"

"I think that's all the time we have for today." he cuts me off hastily, "Join us here next week for some more juicy gossip!"

He smiles and winks at the camera almost; that's his signature I suppose. After they finally notify us that we're off the air, I immediately glare at Jackson. He raises up his hands innocently.

"Look, someone sent them to the studio anonymously. I saw the pictures. I didn't ask questions."

"You're an asshole," I growl back, but Jackson only shrugs.

"It's show business, hun."

He gets up from his chair and straightens out his suit before turning to face me with a quirked eyebrow. "Plus, what do you have to be worried about if there isn't an affair?"

I can tell he's digging for information, so I keep my calm. "I'm just a little curious about who's been taking pictures of the inside of my house."

"Well," he shoots me a fake smile, "I wish I could help, but I got a mani pedi in an hour or so."

* * *

The walk to the limo is overwhelming. Camera men are everywhere. My two bodyguards Frost and Holiday are trying to help make a path through the sea of paparazzi, but eventually I just have to push a few of them out of the way on my own. The ride in the car is not much better. Everyone is pretty much eying me. Each of their gazes a little different.

Korsak's is accusing.

Frost's is awed.

And Holiday's is confused.

After a while of the awkward silence, Frost finally speaks, a smirk stretching across his face.

"So you slept with Mother Teresa, huh?"

"Ugh, come on Frost-"

"Hey, hey no judgment from me, Jane," he holds his hand up in placation, "A woman's gotta do what a woman's gotta do–"

His little 'pep talk' is interrupted when Holiday gives him a quick slap to the back of the head.

"Ouch!" he glares at the other bodyguard, rubbing the spot she hit, "What'd I do

"Disregard everything he just said, Jane," Holiday advices sympathetically but looks as if she's also wondering if I slept with Maura. There's another moment of silence before Korsak sighs.

"Janie, you know I love you, right," he sits himself up on the seat and gives me a fatherly pat on the back, "But of all the women you could've gone to bed with you choose her. It's like you asked yourself 'which woman is going to cause me the most trouble' and then you slept with her."

I shrug a bit guiltily, knowing that Korsak is mostly just worried about me and my career.

"It wasn't really a choice choice…We were…it was more than that," I intone quietly.

The rest of the passengers in the limo just stare at me sympathetically.

I know Maura was married, and for part of the time we were together I was on small tour through the north of the country…but somehow it still ended up being more than it should have. And I guess I'm mostly to blame; I was the one who pushed us in that direction from the start.

* * *

 _It's Friday, and Garrett's away on business in New Jersey._

 _So instead of trying to sneak Maura into my paparazzi infested studio apartment; I just drive over to her quiet, water-front villa. She already informed me that she's relieved the house staff of their daily duties, so I waste no time trying to scope out if anyone is around. I'm too anxious to find Dr. Isles; plus, it's a gated property. The moment I ring the doorbell, the honey blonde is all over me. We haven't been able to see each other in two weeks; I've been performing, Garrett's been around. But finally, I can touch her, see her, and I won't lie. I've missed her like crazy. All of her. And the way she's pulling desperately at my clothes, I get the feeling she's missed me too. But I doubt if she'd ever admit it. That's just not Maura's way_

 _By the time, we finish getting 'reacquainted' it's three hours later, and we're laid out in the master bedroom. To my surprise, instead of immediately getting dressed like she usually does after we hook up, Maura simply kisses my lips before rolling back over to her side of the mattress._

 _We stay like that for a while. Just silently breathing next to each other. Until I, for no substantial reason at all, move my hand across the invisible barrier separating her space from mine and place it neatly atop hers. I'm not usually affectionate after sex…but that's mostly because Maura never really gives me the option of being affectionate, and now that there's a window, I can't help but want to. Unsurprisingly though, the moment she feels my hand curl around hers Maura tenses uncomfortably.  
"Jane," the doctor sighs into the air, not turning her head to look at me. I immediately recognize it her method of reinforcing this 'no affection' rule she's implemented; she's passively notifying me that I'm crossing some line. But ugh…I just want to hold her hand._

 _I sigh after a moment, the still air of the morning only serving to amplify the sound._

 _I wish she irritated me. I wish that I could find something unbearably grating about her; maybe it would make it easier for me to abide by these boundaries she's constructed. Maybe it'd make it easier for me to stay at arm's length._

 _But there isn't anything._

 _Her factoids._

 _Her grammar corrections._

 _The way she unconsciously flinches when she watches me eat cold cuts._

 _None of it annoys me. None of it makes me want her any less._

 _I like every little quirk._

 _I turn over on my side to face her, but she just continues looking away from me, eyes glued to the ceiling. A minute or so passes like that, me quietly watching her, before she finally rolls her eyes and speaks._

 _"Stop it."_

 _"Stop what?" I ask innocently_

 _"Gawking at me."_

 _"I can't. You're just—you're fascinating."_

 _I meant to say beautiful or gorgeous or something physical and shallow that I could shrug off, but for some reason that's the word that came out. Maura seems a little thrown off by it as well because she doesn't immediately respond, she just turns to look at me, eyes curious and nervous, before quickly turning back._

 _"Did you know that there are approximately 34 muscles in the human hand?"_

 _"You're changing the subject," I sigh knowingly, but she simply continues._

 _"Seventeen in the palm. Eighteen in the forearm. Three of which, the hypothenar muscles, only serve to assist in the movement of the fifth digit-"_

 _"We're going to talk eventually," I try to interrupt again, but she ignores my interjection._

 _"The three palmar interossei musles help in the movement of the rest of the digits toward the pollex while the four dorsal interossei muscles have a somewhat contradictory purpose-_

 _"Maura."_

 _"The four thenar musces contribut-_

 _"I like you."_

 _The words come flying out of my mouth before I can stop them or at least revise them into something a little less juvenile. I'm usually a lot more thought-out than that, but I don't know…she's frustrating. And magnetic. And wonderful. And the way this morning light is curling up in her hair she looks like some earth-bound angel. An angel who, in the midst of hearing my sentimental declaration, furrows her brow confusedly before making a face and turning away from me_

 _"No, no, no, don't do that," I huff knowing exactly where this is going. The few times I have tried to even broach this subject with her, she freaks out and closes herself off. And I get it; this is a meaningless affair, but I'm…fond of her. We've been doing this for three months. I think we're allowed to be fond of each other._

 _When I see that she isn't turning back around, I drag the sheets away from her just enough, so that she can't use them to shield herself. And then I scoot up closely behind her, tossing one arm across her side before pulling her tightly into me. She lets out a tiny little gasp when my chest collides with her bare back. "I like you Maur, okay," I say again, "I like you. I like you. I like you," I whisper the words like a mantra against her neck, the skin of my nose bumping lightly into her ear, "And we're not doing that thing where I try to be honest, and you shut down on me."_

 _Maura pushes back against me weakly, but I keep my arm curled tightly around her waist. Finally she sighs, "I don't want you to like me, Jane. This arrangement isn't about liking each other."_

 _I roll my eyes at her._

 _"Too bad. I like you; it's not the end of the world."_

 _"I'm serious, Jane," she continues, finally flipping back over to face me again, her lips inches from mine. Quietly she brings her palms up to grasp lightly at my face, the skin of her thumbs rubbing gently against my cheeks. Her eyes look so worried and sad at the same time. "I don't want you to like me. I want us to stay like this."_

 _"It's too late, Maur. I already do," I whisper plainly moving my hand up to press softly against her cheek, "And I'm going to take a wild guess and say that you like me too."_

 _She glances away from my eyes for a moment before mumbling, "You shouldn't assume."_

 _"Maur!"_

 _"What? I typically don't favor people who put pizza stains in my couch."_

 _"That was one time!" I assert exasperatedly, but Maura laughs despite the remnants of worry in her eyes. I know this is hard for her. Not being in control. I kiss her lips gently before smiling comfortingly._

 _"You should give me a pass on that."_

 _"Should I?" she questions, humor in her voice._

 _"Well, I already gave you a pass. I mean, I typically don't favor people who snore-"_

 _"Jane!" she hits my shoulder chastisingly but can't seem to stop herself from laughing, "I don't snore, you jerk!"_

 _I shrug, moving closer to rest my lips against her forehead. She only tenses briefly before finally relaxing into the contact. "How do you know, Maur?" I question slowly, smiling against her skin, "You were asleep."_

 _She laughs this light little laugh, snuggling inconspicuously closer to me. And it hits me how familiar yet odd this is. We've never been this close to each other in a non-sexual way. But somehow, the dialogue, the banter, it's all the same. We're still the same._

 _After a moment, after the laughing dies down, she whispers, almost inaudibly, "I like you too."_

* * *

We drive to Korsak's beautiful California bungalow across town instead of my apartment for obvious reasons. As soon as we all get inside, I plop down on his sofa, followed quickly by Frost and Nina, who keep asking me if I'm going to postpone my tour around the country. I wave them off quickly, knowing that before I let the worry completely take over me I have to call Maur and tell about the other picture. She picks up instantly this time.

"How'd the interview go?" she asks as soon as she answers. "Is that her?" Frost questions nosily, leaning over my shoulder

I wave him off quickly before getting off of the couch. "Hold on, Maur. Let me go somewhere a little quieter." I look pointedly at Frost, but he only shrugs. I can hear Korsak in the kitchen ranting on his phone to someone about damage control, so I decide against going in there. Instead I go for the upstairs guest room and lock the door.

"The interview went fine," I say quickly and she breathes a sigh of relief, "I said we were friends just hugging, and the crowd seemed to buy it."  
"Good," she interjects contently.

"But Maura, we have a bigger problem. Who ever took the first picture took another one…one more um intimate."

Maura falters for a second. "What do you mean more intimate?"

"We were hugging again, but this time in my living room. I mean whoever took it was right outside of my window."

"Alright, so you have a stalker…that's bad, but not uncommon with the kind of career you have-"

"But Maura listen. This stalker sent at least two pictures to Jackson Starr, probably the epitome of a gossip fiend. They wanted to hurt me or you or both of us. And the photos, they weren't recent. This person held onto them for more than a year. And-and I don't know Maur," I pause thoughtfully for a second, "It's weird. It hit me on the way home that if this guy is a stalker, and he's been peering through my windows for more than a year. He has better photos than the ones Jackson has…way better photos."

"So what are you trying to say, Jane?" Maura implores nervously, her voice hitching with fear.

"The pictures he sent to Jackson…they had to be—to be warnings or something. If he wanted to destroy us, he could've-"

"Stop, stop, stop, Jane," Maura interrupts, "You're assuming too much. My publicist and I will be there next week."

Before I can respond, a soft knock comes at the door. "Hey Maur, I have to go someone's at the door."

"Yeah, of course, but one thing before you go, Jane," I nod, and she waits for a second before continuing, "Don't call me, Maur."

"Really?" I ask, rolling my eyes at the trivialness of her request, "Right now? After we just figured out we have a stalker who could destroy our careers."

"Nicknames imply a level of intimacy that we no longer have-"

"And whose fault is that?" I growl lowly, and at this, Maura hesitates.

"You didn't have to leave."

"Don't act like you don't remember that day, Maur."

* * *

 _We're in my studio apartment. Maura finally had the chance to get away from the house, so she's here, making dinner and speaking enthusiastically about something. For months now, every since Garrett came back, whenever she talks to me she speaks really happily…like a kindergarten teacher speaks to her students. It's weird and phony, but I suppose it's her way of trying to keep me from noticing the serious turn our relationship is taking. Garrett's been home a lot more recently, and he's been asking for more and more time with Maura. I barely get to see her anymore…well compared to all the time we used to spend together. It's really brought to my attention the big flaw in our relationship. It was easier when Garrett was always on business trips to pretend that his marriage to Maura didn't exist. It was easier to pretend that she was…mine._

 _I sigh quietly as I lean against the countertop._

 _"What is it?" she asks the overly happy façade falling for a moment. It's almost jarring how quickly her shoulders start to sag and her face crinkles with worry lines. I wonder briefly if that's what our entire relationship has become…fake smiles and worry lines. "Jane look at me," she sighs, and I realize immediately that this entire time I've been mostly looking over her head, every now and then glancing over her face._

 _"Everything's fine, Maur. I'm just deciding what movie I want to watch-"_

 _"When did this part of our relationship start?" she interrupts, and I furrow my brow in confusion so she continues._

 _"The lying part," she explains, "I know something's wrong, Jane. I look at you, and I feel it. You're unhappy." She says it like it's a fact. Like there is no doubt in her mind that I am discontent, and I realize after a moment, that she's right. I'm not just irritated that Garrett is back around. I'm unhappy. And I've felt this way for months now and somehow convinced myself to ignore it._

 _"Jane, you're not happy, and I find that when you're not happy, I'm not happy. So tell me what to do," she lays down the knife completely. All the pretense. All the subterfuge. Gone. The only thing left is her vulnerable, loving gaze. "Tell me how to make you happy."_

 _I curl my fists around the edge of the countertop as a sudden wave of realization washing over me. I love her. I_ _ **love**_ _Maura Isles. But she's someone else's._

 _"I want you to marry me."_

 _The words come out instantly, and Maura's eyes widen in shock. We've never really talked about marriage in a serious manner. In fact, now that I think we've never really talked about the future of our relationship in a serious manner. I think both of us were always too invested in trying to avoid the topic, subconsciously knowing that this discussion would be the one that tore us apart._

 _"Jane-" Maura tries to start, but I quickly continue; I don't want to be talked out of saying what needs to be said._

 _"I want to have kids with you Maura. I want to have kids with hazel eyes and brown hair. I-I want us to buy a house with a yard and spend our anniversaries on the front porch in matching rocking chairs. I want you to fuss over the food I eat and correct my grammar for the rest of my life. I want you to be mine. Not Garrett's. Mine." I point to my chest and for the first time feel myself trembling. I've never been this honest with Maura. Not about my feelings for her._

 _Our relationship has always been clouded in innuendo and subterfuge, both of us equally scared of losing the upperhand. But it's been two years, and I can't walk in the shadows anymore. I'm in love with her, and she's in love with me. And that's enough, right? That has to be enough._

 _Maura presses her palms into her eyes harshly, and for a second, I think she's willing herself not to cry. "Jane, I am yours," I hear the words even though they get slightly muffled in her palms, "I've always been yours. Always."_

* * *

"I do remember, Jane," Maura answers quietly, bringing me out of my reverie "You could have stayed."

"Jane, you in there?" I hear Riley's voice slip in from the outside.

"Yeah, uh just a second," I say . "Maura I have to go, okay." I whisper it out harshly before hanging up, frustrated at myself; it's been 6 months I shouldn't let her get to me still. I turn toward the door, prepping myself for all the explaining I'm going to have to do once I open it.


End file.
